Silly Earth People
by KimiruMai
Summary: A collection of drabbles, based on fanart by kuri kousin. 365 Moments filled with memories and incidents concerning our favorite little Briefs family, and their strange happenings.
1. In Class

**Well, this is another short one. If any of you know Piccoloisgreen, who by the way is a fabulous author, you'll know that P has a collection of drabbles based on DBZ fanart, the link of which I'll have posted in my profile. I've decided that because you can never have too many drabbles, and sometimes I need BV stuff to just vent instead of incorporating them into stories, I've decided to do some drabbles for those pics too. Another author has done the same, but you can check that out through Piccoloisgreen's story. This particular chapter is also an entry for the Blue and Black Livejournal Community's Earth Custom's challenge.**

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**Chapter 1: In Class (Picture # 28) **

Trunks's left eye twitched.

It was a rather annoying trait that he'd inherited from both of his parents, his father in particular. Eye twitching was an action that meant all hell was about to break loose, and everybody who knew him for more than ten minutes knew that they'd better scatter before he exploded.

That wasn't to say Trunks actually had a temper. As hard headed as his family was, Trunks was normally very calm and patient. He wasn't one to get riled up unless his pride and honor was insulted, or the pride and honor of someone he cared about. Tiny insults like him being a spoiled rich kid or how he was a teacher's pet (he wasn't) didn't bother him. Besides, no one had said anything of the sort to him since Jr. High. Trunks was a popular kid.

So why, you ask, was his eye twitching? What, you inquire, is irritating him to the point of eye twitching in the first place?

Well, that is a very good question. It could have something to do with the fact that his college history class was utterly boring. It might have something to do with that girl that was tapping her pencil on her desk right behind him. But most likely, it was because of that flame haired shape in the window.

Determined not to look, Trunks kept his blue eyes on his teacher, pretending to listen intently to what he was saying. He held his pencil in his hand gently, knowing he could break it into splinters if he squeezed it even a little bit, scribbling things in his notebook whenever he heard something important. He was amazed that no one seemed to notice yet, or if they had, then they'd be too shocked to say anything. Hopefully.

No sooner had he thought this, a young girl about his age raised her hand. "Professor Yamato?"

The professor looked up. "Yes, Evie?"

"There's a man in the window."

Professor Yamato looked at her quizzically. "Excuse me?"

Evie pointed up towards where Trunks was sitting. The demi-Saiyan squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his arms on top of his desk, wishing Saiyans had some kind of invisibility powers. Praying to Dende that no one would see the resemblance, he listened on in horror as the class finally noticed the presence of a very dangerous, sometimes homicidal, and apparently bored man in the window.

"Evie, I'm afraid I…oh, oh my! Trunks, open that window immediately!"

Oh, God, no.

His tanned face burning crimson, Trunks slowly stood up and unlocked the window, sliding it open. His face was slightly hidden behind his purple bangs as he glared daggers at the man. "What. The hell. Are you _doing?_" he hissed.

His father looked at him disinterestedly, his head cocked and propped up on one hand. "Waiting for you to look up, dumbass. What are you, blind?"

"I'm in _class!_"

"I know. Although I don't see why it's necessary…"

"You can't just come and interrupt me while I'm trying to learn -"

"Trunks!" Professor Yamato cried. "Shouldn't you be helping him?! He's hanging off the windowsill!"

Trunks slapped his forehead. "I'm going to kill you. Slowly, and very painfully."

Vegeta snorted, as if to say, _As if_, and grinned, clearly amused.

"He's going to fall for sure!" someone in the room said.

Trunks's face got darker. "He won't fall."

A boy that sat beside Trunks stood up and peered out the window. "Holy shit, he's floating!"

The class erupted, and nearly everyone jumped out of their seats to see. Before anyone could make it to the window, however, Trunks yelled, "SIT!"

The class froze, stunned, and sat back down, and Vegeta snickered. Trunks turned to glare at him heatedly, scowling his infamous Vegeta-like scowl, which his father mimicked on instinct. They stared at each other for a long time, and finally, Trunks snarled, "Goddammit, Dad!"

Pleased that he'd won the staring match, Vegeta smirked and waved his hand in a 'come on' motion. "We're leaving," he said.

"No," Trunks growled, "_You're_ leaving. I'm staying here and finishing class."

"Or you could do as I say and come on." The sentence was said in _that tone_, the one that meant Trunks would get his ass whopped if he didn't get a move on. As angry as he was, the young man paled slightly and hid his face behind his bangs again.

"I'm coming," he muttered.

Vegeta looked satisfied and smug, folding his arms and flowing back from the window.

Trunks cleared his throat and looked at his teacher. "Professor Yamato? My dad is checking me out. I'll, uh, have a note tomorrow."

Yamato nodded, perfectly speechless, and the whole class watched and Trunks gathered his things and put them in his shoulder bag, the walked to the window and opened it a bit wider. He put his hands on the windowsill and crouched.

"Um, Trunks?" a girl squeaked.

He dropped out the window just as she opened her mouth and disappeared, only to poke his head up a second later. "Yeah?" he asked, embarrassed.

"Never mind," she said in the same high pitch.

Trunks's cheeks turned heavily pink, and he shut the window behind him before flying off with his father. When they were a good distance away, he snapped, "Now what the hell was so goddamned important that you had to expose the fact that my family can _fly_?"

Vegeta's eyes narrowed at Trunks's tone, but then he realized what question was asked. Now it was his turn to look embarrassed.

Trunks raised an eyebrow. "Dad?"

Vegeta ducked his head a little bit and muttered, "Today's your mother's birthday, and only Bra has gotten her a present."

Trunks's face paled significantly, his blue eyes wide with absolute horror. "Oh, _shit_."

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**Hee :3**

**Review!**

**~KimiruMai**


	2. Weird

**Welp, I suppose this chapter is right after the Namek Saga, set in those mysterious 130 days. Should be doing physics right now…**

**Wow, I can't believe how many reviews that first chapter got in just a few hours. I know I'm funny, guys, but sheesh :D Anyway, here's a not so funny chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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**Chapter 2: Weird. (Picture #107)**

She watched him silently as brushed the towel over his face, and when his features surfaced from the thick white material, they were hardened with annoyance. He tossed the towel onto the back of one of the kitchen chairs and lifted the bottom of his tank to scratch his stomach absentmindedly. He seemed to be ignoring her presence, or at the very least, not acknowledging it. His dark eyes roamed over the contents of the nearly empty refrigerator, and he scowled heavily.

"There isn't anything there," she said from her spot at the kitchen table, where she sat in her biggest sweatshirt with her warm tea mug. "Mom went out grocery shopping and probably won't be back for a few hours. I've ordered Mexican. It'll be here soon."

He turned to look at her, his thick black brows knitting. "What's Mexican?"

She frowned, realizing that she hadn't ordered Mexican in a really long time, and therefore he has never seen it. "It's just food that's native to a Hispanic race and culture."

"I thought you were all humans," he said disinterestedly, turning back to glare at the refrigerator.

"We are. We're separated by sub-races. I'm Japanese."

"Hn."

"It'll be here soon," she said again, and she sipped her tea.

It was awkwardly silent. Bulma despised it when her parents left the house, because at some point or other, she'd run into Vegeta. She was not accustomed to having short, clipped conversations, and the Prince of Saiyans was the King of Silence.

He'd been here for perhaps 20 days, or somewhere close to a month, and the only time he ever spoke to anyone was to demand food or clean clothes. He stayed locked up in his room or training by himself all day, and if he ever said anything, it was an insult.

Which is why this somewhat civil conversation was making her nervous.

She watched him rummage through the cabinets, looking for something to eat while they waited for the Mexican order to arrive, during which Bulma rotated between looking at the alien man and watching the clock. She loved free food, rich or not.

She looked over at him again when she heard a soft growl, and found him staring at a box of crackers. They were nasty, flavorless crackers covered in salt, and he'd just eaten one. He forced himself to swallow it and wrinkled his nose, running his tongue against his teeth as though that would get the taste off.

"Do you want some tea?" Bulma offered calmly.

He frowned.

"How about some soda?"

He glanced at her. "What's soda?"

She stood up and went to the fridge, finding two cans left, one purple and one orange. Having finished her tea, she put the mug in the sink and offered him the purple soda.

He frowned again.

She offered him the orange one, and he took it. He watched as Bulma pinched the tab and popped it up, the can hissing as the air was released. Taking a moment to study the can he held, he took the tab in his fingers and pulled on it.

The tab snapped off and went flying, and the soda spurted. Bulma felt something whiz by her face and whirled, shocked to notice the tab stuck in the wall. When she turned back, she took immediate note that Vegeta's eyes were squeezed shut, and his face and shoulders were dripping with soda. He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly, his normally stoic features wide with surprise.

She very much wanted to laugh.

She took a glass from the cabinet and gently took the can from his hand, pouring what was left of the soda into the glass. She handed it to him, then handed him one of the hand towels from the drawer. He'd taken off his now soaked shirt and tossed it on the back of the chair with his old towel, his chest already starting to get sticky. He took the hand towel and briskly wiped his face, and avoided her gaze when he finished.

He was embarrassed.

Bulma cleared her throat. "Sorry about that. I should have warned you to do it gently."

He growled softly again and sipped the drink quickly. After a moment, he snorted, and sneezed.

"What's in this?" he demanded.

"Carbon dioxide. It's for fizzy effect."

He scowled at the glass, but drank it again, this time slowly. The room fell silent again. Bulma found it dreadfully awkward, but Vegeta didn't seem to mind it.

Actually, he was rather uncomfortable too. He wasn't entirely sure he trusted this female. He had a preference of being alone, and her entire presence was loud. He wanted quiet. In fact, he wouldn't care if the entire Briefs family left for a week, even if it meant he'd have to cook for himself.

Well…maybe not….but the principle remained the same.

It was quiet for at least another five minutes, with Bulma sitting motionless in her chair and Vegeta leaning against the counter. After a moment, Bulma asked hesitantly, "Do you like it?"

"Hm?"

"The soda."

"It's decent." He didn't say anything more than that.

"Oh," she blinked.

It was quiet again.

Bulma cleared her throat. "Um…can I ask you something?"

"What?" he asked disinterestedly.

"Do you like it here?"

He was quiet for a minute, then answered dryly, "I've been in worse places."

Bulma was unsure of whether or not she should take that as a compliment.

He folded his arms halfway, soda glass still in hand, and started to stare out the window. Bulma took the chance to study his profile, and she blinked in surprise when her mind registered what she saw.

His jawline was strong and set, his neck and shoulders as muscled as the rest of them. His nose was almost impossibly straight (and the word impossible is used because she knew that he'd probably broken it more times than was favorable), his high cheekbones prominently defined, and the very slightest outline of a dimple near his mouth. His lips were shaped wonderfully (she did _not _just think that), though permanently set in a scowl, or at the very least, a soft frown. His hair was thick and soft looking, despite its flame shape, his eyebrows heavy but leveled, his eyes shaped unusually, and the darkest shade of onyx she'd ever seen.

He was handsome.

As if feeling her stare, he glanced at her and said stiffly, "What?"

She blinked, then blushed, embarrassed at being caught. "Nothing. Just daydreaming."

He resumed looking out the window.

Bulma glanced at him out of the corner of her eye once, then said, "The food should be here in a minute. You can go wash up if you like."

He glanced down at his bare chest, frowning at the remnants of sticky soda on his skin, and turned down towards the hallway without a single word. A few minutes later, Bulma heard the soft sound of the shower being turned on.

She sipped her soda, then frowned at it, setting it down on the table and pushing it away.

He was a strange man, that one.

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**~KimiruMai**


	3. Heart That's Healed

**Disclaimer: I own no characters or songs affiliated with this story. **

**Set after the Buu Saga. **

**Song Prompts: All Around Me ~ Flyleaf, I Bruise Easily ~ Natasha Beddingfield.**

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**Chapter 3: Heart That's Healed (Picture #27)**

She knew he was coming when she just barely heard his quiet footsteps. It always baffled her, how he almost seemed to sneak around the place, even as heavy as he was. He walked in from the hall and closed the door, passing her a quiet glance as he made his way to the bathroom. He left the door open, and she saw him standing near the hamper with his back to her. He grasped the hem of his shirt around his waist, pulled the material up over his head, and tossed it in the basket.

Scars were painted thickly on his back.

She knew where some of them came from; most were from Frieza, some from random battles across the galaxy, a few from battles here on Earth. The lightest ones would be of the latter; the darkest and most jagged from the former. There were few that he would ever explicitly explain to her, though she knew that the one on the left side of his back had a matching one over his heart where Frieza had blasted him clean through, and the giant slash across his back was from when Yajirobe had cut him during his first battle on her planet.

Lying on her stomach, she folded her arms and pillowed her head on them, watching him. He stripped down to his underwear and washed his face with soap, and after drying it with a towel, she saw him look at himself in the mirror. His dark eyes flitted across the glass, his features clouded and unsure. His nose wrinkled slightly, as though he'd seen something distasteful in the mirror, and Bulma felt herself frowning. After a moment, he turned away, left the bathroom, and crawled into bed beside her.

She stared at his back, wondering why he'd not said anything to her, or even looked at her. She scooted closer on her side and wrapped her right arm around his waist, pressing her cheek against his shoulder.

He craned his neck to look at her.

"What's wrong?" she murmured against his skin.

He watched her face for a moment more, then lowered his head to the pillow again. "Nothing," he mumbled.

She kissed his tense shoulder and was rewarded with his immediate relaxation. "Vegeta," she said softly.

"Nothing."

She pinched his abdomen. "I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want, I don't care." He sounded tired.

"Hmm," she muttered. "Are you going to shower?"

"I didn't train today. I'll shower in the morning."

He had not trained in many days. He'd had enough fighting to last him a lifetime, he said.

"Vegeta, you can still train. You can just lift weights and do katas or something, instead of trying to kill yourself every day."

"I don't try to kill myself."

"Bullshit, you don't."

He growled halfheartedly.

She sighed and squeezed his middle tightly. "You drive me crazy sometimes, you know that?"

He didn't answer.

"Vegeta…"

"What?" The response was snappish.

"Turn over and look at me."

"No."

"Vegeta…" Her tone was a warning.

"Leave me be, Woman," he said, and his shoulders hunched again.

"If you want to be alone so badly, you can go sleep on the couch," she shot back.

Now his shoulders went rigid, and he sat up swiftly without a word. The comforter pilled around his waist as it slid from his torso, and Bulma blinked at the sudden motion. Just as he started to stand, she grabbed his arm and pulled.

"I wasn't serious, you dummy," she said chidingly.

Again, he just barely glanced back at her, and sat back down. Bulma pulled on his arm again, and he climbed back under the covers after sighing through closed lips. This time, he lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. Bulma sighed and threw her arm over his chest, snuggling against his side. "You're such a dumbass sometimes," she muttered fondly.

He looked down at her smiling face questioningly, not appreciating the nickname. "You're strange, Woman," he said.

"I love you, Man," she returned.

Vegeta did not verbally return the sentiment, nor did she expect him to. Even after the Buu fiasco, he was always reluctant to share what he felt. She pretended to walk her fingers up his chest and throat until she'd reached the fine black hairs on the back of his neck, and she started to play with it. Vegeta rolled his eyes and put his hand over her wrist, but didn't stop her.

"I love your hair," she continued, "and I love your eyes," she kissed the corner of his mouth, "I love your lips, and I love your nose."

Vegeta sighed again.

"I love your smirk, I love your glares," she paused and grinned at him. "I love your body."

He rolled his eyes again. "You know those nice moments you're always griping about? This was almost one of those until you ruined it with your vulgarity."

She laughed. "It's a really gorgeous body," she teased, then turned somber again. "I love your scars."

He tensed. "Why?"

"Because they're a part of you. I love every bit of you, and I love your scars."

"They didn't come from something you'd be willing to love," he sneered.

"Maybe not. If you didn't have them, I wouldn't love them, but you do have them, so I do love them."

"Now you're just making up shit."

"I'm not," she insisted. She crossed her arms over his chest and rested her chin there, and grinned at him again. "I think they're sexy."

"There you go again."

"Yeah, well…you wouldn't have become my husband if you didn't like it."

He grunted, but didn't deny her statement.

"Seriously, what's the matter?" Bulma prodded.

"I've told you, nothing. Leave it alone."

She sighed again. "I don't like it when you bottle things up; you know that."

He was silent.

"I wish you would talk to me."

"I wish you would shut up," he replied.

Bulma blew air through her lips and laid her head in the crook of his neck. "You're impossible."

Silence.

He rolled onto his side, facing her, and pulled her to him. He nosed her temple, his warm breath floating across her face, and watched nothing in particular with an unnaturally depressed expression.

Bulma didn't see his face, but she could feel it in the small aura he gave off. She might have not been able to sense Ki, but she was still a human, and she was still his lover; she had a sort of sixth sense when it came to him. She slipped her arm underneath his and wrapped the other around his neck, stroking his shoulder lovingly.

These days were a tough time for him; she knew that. His pride was wounded, and every lie he'd been taught as a child was coming back to haunt him, if not now, then surely later. He was confused and unsure of himself; he needed time for his heart to heal, and she was willing to wait out that time with him.

She hugged his middle again, and felt a soft rumbling purr from his chest against her cheek. She smiled. She needed to be gentle with him now, show him that even though anyone who touched him could hurt him, she would be the one person that would touch him and heal him no matter what.

Even if he was left with battle scars.

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**~KimiruMai**


	4. Preggers

**This chapter is set in the Trunks/Android Saga, in one of those random Missing Three Years moments. Enjoy :D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, yada yada yada. **

**Song Prompt: Yellow ~ Coldplay**

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**Chapter 4: Preggers (Picture #03)**

He watched her belly swell as the months passed on; she was huge now, often taking up most of the room in the bed, and always complaining of how her movement was hindered. Granted, he wouldn't have been able to stand such a thing, but she didn't have to complain to _him_, did she? Wasn't that what her mother was for?

"God, I can't wait for this kid to get out of me," Bulma breathed as he lowered her to the couch. "She's so heavy."

"It's a boy," Vegeta barked. "The first born child of the House of Vegeta is always a boy."

"Oh, shut up. I'm not a Saiyan anyway, so it could be a girl."

He scowled.

She smiled at him, her features prettily flushed pink from her pregnancy. "Thanks for helping me."

"It was either that or listen to you whine," he growled, embarrassed.

"Sure."

He growled again.

"You should really take a shower, though," she teased. " You stink, Veggie-kun."

"Don't call me that," he snapped. "I'm older than you."

"Heh, so you finally found out what it meant, huh? Who told you?"

"That is none of your concern," he said, "Just stop calling me that."

"Alright, alright."

He took the towel from around his shoulders and wiped his face with it; his shirt was stained with sweat, and it was true that he didn't smell entirely favorable. Ignoring any further goading from the blue haired female, he went upstairs to shower, and returned to get something to eat. Unfortunately, before he had even made it to the kitchen, there was a loud cry from the living room.

"Vegeta!"

A growl rose in his throat, and he had half a mind to ignore her again. But she called him a second time, and a third, and he finally went back into the living room.

"What?" he demanded.

"Would you get me some food please?" she asked, her lips turned up flirtatiously.

"No," he said sternly. "That's what your dame is for."

"Mom isn't here," Bulma pouted. "She went shopping for baby clothes again. Please, Vegeta? Your kid is starving me to death."

He frowned. "Do not use such phrases so lightly," he sneered, and disappeared into the kitchen. Bulma sighed, but he returned a moment later with his arms laden with food. At her delighted look, he glared at her and said, "Some of this is for me."

"Of course," she nodded, and patted the seat beside her.

After dumping the food on the coffee table, he sat and grabbed a random bag – orange chips called 'Cheetos' – and growled on instinct when Bulma reached into it.

"Let me have some," she scolded. "Those are my favorite and you know it."

He growled again, and a staring match ensued. A battle of blue and black carried on for what seemed like a long time, when suddenly, Bulma noticed something behind him and screamed.

He jumped, surprised, and whirled, expecting an enemy of some sort, only to feel the bag being snatched from his hands.

"You cheating bitch," he snarled as he whirled on her.

She grinned cheekily at him and threw a chip in her mouth. "I'll share."

He grumbled something incoherently, and silently agreed to this compromise. A similar situation happened with the rest of the food, and Bulma turned on the TV to drown out the Saiyan's snarls.

While she occupied herself with the screen, he scanned over her figure. Her face was rounder that when he'd first come here, and she had sort of a plumpness to the rest of her. Her belly was evenly rounded and bulging as though she'd pop at any given minute, so much so that he cocked his head and continued to study her.

After a moment, she felt his stare, and asked, "What?"

He looked away and scowled. "I didn't say anything."

"You were staring at me."

"You're fat."

He expected her to start screaming, and was thus surprised with her reaction. She burst into a fit of laughter, and smacked his arm. "You damned Saiyan," she chortled. "I'm having a baby." Her features softened lovingly then, and she rubbed her stomach. "_We_'re having a baby."

"Hmph," he said. "Don't expect me to spend time with it or coddle it."

She sighed and shook her head. "You say that now…I know you'll love him, Vegeta. I know you will."

He glared at her suspiciously. "You said it would be a girl," he reminded her accusingly.

She smiled at his lack of denial for her statement. "Well…I actually went to the doctor and found out it was a boy this morning."

"You little…" he grumbled, but he looked smug.

"What should we name him?" she asked suddenly, her face lighting up.

"Vegeta," he said immediately.

"I am not naming my baby that, Vegetable-head, no matter how cute you are," she declared.

He nearly blushed at that, and he growled, "I am not cute. And it's tradition to name the first born after his father in the Royal House."

"Yeah, well maybe I like a different name."

"Like what?" he demanded.

"Like…like Trunks. Trunks is cute."

"Trunks is ridiculous," he scoffed.

"It isn't," she insisted. "I love it. Trunks Vegeta Briefs."

His left eye twitched at the name, which now incorporated his. "Hmph."

She smiled. "You'll see, Vegeta. You'll love him. Trunks Vegeta Briefs, what a name," she laughed. "What if he looks like you, eh?"

"Of course he will," he said matter-of-factly.

She scooted over to him and laid her head on her shoulder. "He'll be great. He'll be smart, funny, strong, and handsome. You'll see."

"Don't expect me to raise him."

"Why not? I bet you'd be a great father…so long as you don't teach him about killing things."

"Hmph. I don't have much else to teach, so I repeat that statement," he said, glaring at the TV.

"Aw, come on," Bulma shook her head. "You're a passionate person, Vegeta…I'm sure you'll be good at it. He'll adore you." She gasped then, "Oh, look!"

"What?"

"Put your hand here," she said excitedly, already moving his hand for him.

He was about to object, but he felt something hit his fingers through her skin.

"That's him kicking," she gushed. "See?"

An almost confused look came over his face, and he pressed her stomach gently. The child within her kicked back almost immediately.

"Aw, that's so cute," she grinned. "Say hi to daddy, Trunksie," she cooed to her belly.

"He can't talk yet, Woman," Vegeta rolled his eyes.

"Oh, hush you, let me have my fun."

He shook his head and took his hand away, folding his arms. He resumed watching the television, or at least, pretended he did, and ignored Bulma's poking and eye-rolling. After a minute, to get his attention, Bulma said, "And just think, Vegeta, when this pregnancy is over, you get to have your own fun."

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't turn to look at her. "Beating Kakarot into a pulp?"

"Ha, ha, very funny." She put her hands over her breasts and sized them up. "Seriously, look how big these things get," she teased. "Pregnancy has its perks, even for the guy, am I right?"

A dark blush flitted over his cheeks, and he stood abruptly. "I'm leaving now," he stated, and turned to head upstairs.

"Aww, Vegeta, I was only kidding!" Bulma giggled at his retreating form. He only waved her off and went on, ignoring her loud laughter as best he could.

"Stupid female," he muttered.

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**Heh, oh da fluffies :3**

**Review!**

**~ KimiruMai**


	5. Bad Wish

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Song Prompt: Chasing the Sun ~ The Wanted**

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**Chapter 5: Bad Wish (Picture #43) **

Bulma loved her lab. It was filled with all her equipment, minus paperwork (thank God), it was nice and cool thanks to much air conditioning and its underground level, and best of all, it was sound proof.

It was for this reason that she was not aware of her son leaving the compound with Goten, or the fact that they had been gone for hours. It was also for this reason that she didn't hear her husband screaming bloody murder until she'd left the lab.

Of course, it didn't _sound_ like her husband, not at all. The voice was high pitched and scratchy with the beginnings of pre-teenaged youth, and laced with fury that could make hell freeze over. Bulma ran to the source, thinking that perhaps Trunks had a friend over who'd been hurt, and came to a very stunning – and amusing – situation.

A small child, about the size of Trunks, who was nine now, sat on the floor in the kitchen, screaming at the top of his lungs. The majority of contents from the open refrigerator was splattered around him on the floor, with some on him and in his hair, and his furry tail was stiffened and bristled. His clothes sat in piles around his body, clearly too big for him now, and the scowl on his face showed he was clearly not pleased.

"WOMAN!" the child hollered.

Bulma started to laugh.

"It's not funny!" Vegeta howled.

"It's kind of funny," Bulma giggled. She crouched in front of him and snickered. "Oh my God, you're so cute," she cooed, pinching his cheek.

He smacked her hand away and growled, but it only made her laugh more because it wasn't nearly as deep as it normally was.

"Who summoned that damned dragon and turned me into a kid?" Vegeta nearly shrieked.

"Probably your son," she said, shaking her head as she attempted (and failed) to stop smiling. "Man, you and Trunks could be twins…the resemblance is uncanny."

"I'll kill him!" Vegeta ranted. "I'll slaughter his ass with my bare hands, I'll fry him like a slab of meat! When I get my hands on that brat he'll wish he was never stupid enough to be born! I swear to Kami I – HEY!"

Bulma picked him up, making sure to gather his clothes in her arms so he wouldn't be stark naked, and sat him on her hip. "Goddammit, you're freaking adorable," she said.

"PUT ME DOWN!" he roared, but his voice cracked.

Bulma burst into laughter. "You sound like a kid about to hit puberty. Oh, Kami, it's really real."

"Woman I swear to any deity that listens, if you don't put me down right this minute I'll blast you into the next dimension!"

"Wow, you haven't used that one in a long time," Bulma commented. "You must really be pissed…heh, you're so tiny –"

"I'll murder you," Vegeta hissed, and he bared his fangs.

"HA! That's so cute…little tiny teeth," she giggled. "And look at your bangs! You had bangs as a kid. This is just so freaking hilarious."

Suddenly Trunks burst into the room, scrambling to locate his mother. "MOM! Before you freak out I swear it was an accident! I didn't mean…to…" he trailed off at the sight of the child in his mother's arms. "Dad?" he squeaked.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" Vegeta screamed, launching himself from Bulma's arms. At the last second, she clamped her arms around his waist and managed to subdue him, and he had no choice but to cease – or at least calm – his struggling a bit, lest he hurt her.

"I swear I didn't mean to!" Trunks cried. "It was an accident! I was going to wish for an amusement park!"

"What the hell do you need one of those for?" Vegeta snarled.

"I…I wanted to go on the rides that the real amusement parks say I'm too small for," the lavender haired princeling admitted.

"And how the hell did I get like this then?" his child-sized father demanded.

"Well…Goten asked me if he and his dad could come over to play at my park once I got it, so I said, sure, and he asked if you'd come too, and I told him you down really like roller coasters, and Goten asked what kind of a person doesn't like roller coasters, so I said you thought they were too loud, and Goten wondered if you liked them when you were a kid and I was going to tell him that you didn't have any roller coasters as a kid but instead I said that sometimes I wished you were like a kid, and Shenron heard me." By time Trunks had finished his long, one-breath statement, his face was blushing crimson red with embarrassment.

Vegeta gaped, wondering if that meant he didn't spend as much time with his son as he should, and he sputtered, "I…you – you wanted me to…" he trailed off for a minute, then cried, "Stupid brat! You don't need the Dragon Balls for a goddamned theme park! Your mother has enough money for three!"

"I'm sorry!" Trunks yelped, "But there's still one wish left. I told Goten to send the dragon back while I went to see if you'd… erm, shrunk."

Vegeta fell silent, his thick black bangs hiding his face and his tail stiffening again. After a moment, he said, "You…you say you sent the dragon back?"

"Yes…he was complaining about not sleeping, so I –"

"I'M STUCK LIKE THIS FOR SIX MONTHS!"

Trunks blinked. "You are?"

Bulma sighed. "Trunks, when you send the dragon back after using only one wish, the Dragon Balls still need to recharge…for a less amount of time, admittedly, but it's still half a year."

"Oh, crap," Trunks gaped, his blue eyes growing to comical proportions.

Bulma sighed. "Just go get your father some of your clothes to wear until I can make him some kid-sized suits. Vegeta, play nice. We don't know how this wish affected your power yet."

Growling as she sat him down, the now small Prince gathered the waistline of his pants and held them around his waist. Glaring at Trunks, he said, "You are _so _dead."

Trunks 'eep'ed and made himself scarce, and Bulma laughed once more. Vegeta glared at her then, his tail swinging furiously. "You think this is so funny, but you should remember that you don't get any sex for a whole six months, Woman."

Bulma's laughter cut off abruptly. "This isn't quite so funny, suddenly," she pouted.

"Hmph!"

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**Heh…see, the GT **_**concept**_** wasn't so bad, but they friggin left Goku as a kid to re-grow up again…which, while I'm sure he would love that, is stupid. Utterly stupid. **

**But Chibi Vegeta-chan is cute, ya?**

**Review!**

**~KimiruMai**


	6. Stained

**I'm spitting these things out like crazy. My brain is clogged from too much inspiration for my big stories, so I need to get rid of a lot of it with drabbles, or nothing will ever get done. Le sigh. **

**Well, he's another sad chapter. Enjoy…or whatever. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**Song Prompt: All I Need ~ OneRepublic**

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**Chapter 6: Stained (Picture #33) **

The scream that sounded from the throne room didn't resemble even that of a Saiyan's. It was laced with pain and horror, and the cry sent the guards running. Among them was one of the Royal House's personal bodyguards, a man in his mid-twenties called Nappa, who felt as though he recognized the shout a bit more than he'd have liked.

The scene that they arrived on was not a beautiful one.

The Prince snarled and hissed, pacing in front of the body that lay face-up on the floor. Tears swamped his cheeks, a sight that was not common in the slightest, and his tail lashed back and forth furiously. His steps were quick and desperate, as though he expected the sound of his stomping would make his father get up, but they were warped by the soft splats that accompanied each stride, caused by the scarlet blood that pooled thickly on the marble floors.

The young Prince wailed once, sharply, and the silence that followed was only marred by the continuous taps of his boots against the wet floor. He gave another hiss and wailed again, wordlessly, his features twisted with anger and grief, and his fingers dug into his palms so tightly that Nappa worried his hands would bleed.

"Tousan," the boy whispered, and when the king did not answer him, he screamed, "TOUSAN, GET UP!"

The guards clenched their fist and looked away, knowing that the king would not get up, no matter how many times the child demanded for him to do so.

"TOUSAN!"

Nappa crossed the room and reached for the prince, but the young Saiyan crouched over the body, snarling and baring his teeth, and Nappa backed away.

Prince Vegeta ceased his growls upon Nappa's retreat, and his face softened. He brushed his knuckles against his father's cheek, frightened that the bloody heap before him was real. The king still did not stir, not even when he shook him.

Nappa almost told him to stop, but how did you tell a child that his father was dead? He surely didn't know how, especially not in a way that would avoid his death. The little royal nearly frightened him sometimes, he was so strong, and his temper was unrivaled…and right now, he was displaying the most emotion Nappa had ever seen.

Prince Vegeta reached out and slapped his father's face.

Nothing.

"GODDAMMIT, TOUSAN!" He roared, his voice shaking, and he began to beat his father's armored chest with his fists.

Nappa rushed forward and grabbed him, cringing at the immediate blows he received, but he held on. The Prince screamed again, like an animal, struggling to get free, and drove his elbow into Nappa's stomach. The prince's bodyguard yelled and clutched his stomach as he fell on his bottom, and the prince leapt away, growling and flashing his teeth.

"Leave me alone!" he screamed. "Don't touch me!" His dark eyes flickered to his father, and almost immediately, the fury in his features melted to tears, and a whine leapt from his throat. He nearly sobbed, but choked and growled instead, and glared at any direction that wasn't the body, Nappa's shocked face, or the stunned expression of the guards. For just a moment, his lips lifting over his canines, his expression vicious.

"Prince –" Nappa started.

"Take care of that," the prince barked, his tears drying on his cheeks, though his thick brows knitted with the effort of fighting an onslaught of others. He spun on his heel, his blood red cloak billowing out behind him, and stalked from the room with his head held high and his shoulders squared. In his wake, his stained white boots left bloody footprints on the floor.

Nappa stood up and looked at the body of the king once more, his chest tightening. It was quiet for a moment before the guards called for a stretcher and carried the king out, and began to study the throne room for clues of whoever had comitted the crime.

It was still quiet, and one guard said, "Damn."

Another murmured, "Poor kid. And just think...he barely got off that bastard Frieza's ship ten minutes ago."

Nappa was silent, and he moved the king's torn red cloak from its abandoned heap near the throne. Underneath, there was a single footprint made of blood, with three toes.

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**~KimiruMai**


	7. Unlikely Angel

**Feelin' sappy today. Enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: Eh. **

**Song Prompt: The A Team ~ Ed Sheeran**

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**Chapter 7: Unlikely Angel (Picture #20)**

Goku sat on a small boulder while Dende healed him, his eyes closed as the healing energy washed over him and repaired his wounds. It had never felt so good to be alive. Kid Buu was finally gone, and the Earth was safe. Granted, it _had_ exploded, but at least everyone was now alive and safe, and the blue gem was intact.

"There you go," Dende said, finishing.

Goku breathed a sigh of relief and grinned at the young Namekian. "Thanks Dende. That's much better."

"I'm just glad all of this is finally over," Dende laughed. "You guys always manage to make me worry."

"Heh," Goku scratched the back of his head. "Well…I guess the planet kind of blew up, so that's got some logic behind it."

"I knew you'd beat him," Dende said earnestly. "I just didn't figure the planet would go up in smoke, is all."

"At least it's back," Goku laughed sheepishly.

"Yes, it is," Dende said fondly.

"Thanks to a wish," the Elder Kai reminded them. "You three can't keep depending on the Dragon Balls to save you, especially those that belong to other planets. Try to remember that."

"Yes, sir," Dende shrank under the Kai's gaze.

"I think they all performed marvelously," Kibito Shin said.

The Elder Kai sighed and shook his head. "Young people," he muttered, gazing over the torn remains of his planet.

Goku smiled and looked over at the loner of the group. Vegeta stood with his back turned halfway to the group, brushing a spot of blood away from his cheek. It stained the fingers of his white gloves, but the cut bled no further, for it had already been healed. The bright sun brought a shine to his black hair, and for a second, he almost looked like an angel, even without his halo.

Goku decided then that when Vegeta died for the last time, hopefully of old age, he wouldn't go to hell again.


	8. Spark

**Set in the in the Pre-Android Saga, in Year 1 of those Mysterious Three Years. **

**More sap. Same day, same mood…meh. **

**Disclaimer: Laaa**

**Song Prompt: Kiss Me ~ Ed Sheeran**

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**Chapter 8: Beat (Picture #157)**

Ki manipulation was one of his many skills; as a young child, his ability to copy any technique he'd ever seen had stunned anyone and everyone. The only exceptions to this were techniques limited to certain races, for instance, Guldo's ability to stop time, or Ginyu's ability to switch bodies. Those were inherited, something they were born with, and could not be learned. But he of course had no need for such a silly ability as time freezing, especially when it could only last for as long as he held his breath, and he rather liked his own body anyhow, and had no reason whatsoever to change it.

He was also skilled with creating his own techniques; his favorite, the Gyarikku Hou, had come to him in his teenage years. He'd been nursing his sore hand after a rough training session, and the palm-to- back hand position had suddenly looked to him like an attack. It was a great attack, like putting twice as much force into any other Ki ball, and he particularly loved the way the purple energy curled around his fingers.

When he came to Earth, he had immediately noticed that his scouter often proved to be useless. The earthlings could hide their Ki, and that meant that they could also sense Ki. So, while they waited for Kakarot, he sat on a small boulder and breathed, in and out, reigning in his Ki until he could feel himself grasping it. While the Saibamen and eventually Nappa beat the earthlings to a pulp, he stood off to the side and pushed it down into his core, as if bottling it up, until it was gone. He felt empty without its presence bubbling to the surface, warming his skin and electrifying his insides.

Ki had been a constant thing in his life. Its boiling hot power caused much destruction over the years, but at the same time, it saved him. Its promise to grow kept him going. The promise that it would free him gave him strength. He loved the feel of it pulsing under his flesh, and he loved how it sparked in his fingers when he summoned it, or how it prickled his skin when he surrounded himself with aura. It was beautiful.

But it paled in comparison to the flare of her touch. It paled in comparison to the flutter he felt in his belly when she grabbed his arm, even to stop him from leaving so she could yell at him. It paled in comparison to how, once, when he sat on the couch, she climbed in his lap and pushed him down before he could get up or protest. The spark that came from her hands on his chest made his heartbeat race.

He hated it.

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**~ KimiruMai**


	9. Red Nails

**Set in Year 2 of the Mysterious Three Years. **

**M'kay, this chapter is for ImaginaryInk, who helped me come up with the scenario when I could think of nothing. Ink, just because this is dedicated to you does not make it a lemon :P But there is shirtless Vegeta featured, so have fun with that. **

**Also, Kayla has gotten me addicted to Ed Sheeran. Ze moosik, sho purty…**

**I am not going to lie; I...I love this chapter. Very much :3**

**Disclaimer: LULZ**

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**Chapter 8: Red Nails (Picture #242)**

"I want my fingernails painted," she said from her white chaise lounge chair. She flipped her short blue hair out of her face, and turned her commanding blue gaze on him.

He folded one arm across his chest and dropped to one knee before her. "Yes, Mistress. What color?"

"Red."

"A beautiful color," he murmured. "A royal color."

She was unamused, and flicked her fingers towards her vanity. He rose, retrieved a polish of blood red, sat down on in front of her chair and offered his hand to her. She took it and splayed her fingers out properly, and watched as he painted them very carefully. Not a smudge of it touched her skin.

He finished one hand, and while he moved on to the next one, she brought her nails up to examine them. Finding it flawless, she blew softly on the paint until it began to dry.

He finished her other hand and then painted her toes in silence, while she examined them thoroughly for any mistakes and found none.

"M'lady?" he asked softly. "I've finished."

She looked down at her toes; flawless as well. "Yes, I see."

"Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

She glanced lazily at the flame haired man, who still kneeled in front of her respectively in all his shirtless glory. She rather liked the sight of him in the loose, dark blue jeans that hung low on his waist and showed off the brim his boxers. "Yes," she said after a moment of watching him. "I'm hungry. Get me food, preferably sweets."

He bowed his head lower. "Yes, Mistress," he said, and when he stood, the dog tags attached to his black collar jingled.

When he returned, the tray he'd brought her was enormous. The plates were small, but the servings took up almost all the room on them, and were lined with golden trim that gleamed under her bedroom lights. He carried it on his shoulder, and dropped to one knee so she could observe the foods. The plates carried cheesecake topped with strawberry, cherry custard, double-chocolate Bundt cake with ganache glaze, lemon pudding cake, strawberry chiffon, a red velvet cupcake, a Tuscan trifle, cream candy, angelic strawberry dessert, chocolate crackles, chocolate caramel ice-cream tarts…it was a grand feast, and she couldn't wait to eat it.

"Give me the strawberry chiffon," she commanded. He looked at the tray out of the corner of his eye and retrieved the dessert she'd asked for, along with a fork. Happily, she sank the fork into the chiffon and brought it to her mouth. It tasted exquisite.

It delighted her how many sweets she could eat and not gain a bit of weight. However, because she wasn't greedy, she settled for three small things. When she was full, she said, "That will do. You may take it away now."

He obeyed, and when he returned, he stood straight in a military pose and waited for her next order.

"Draw me a bath."

* * *

He set the water pleasantly hot, the way he knew she liked it, and filled the tub with strawberry bubble bath. Once the bath filled completely, and he deemed it satisfactory, he stepped out of the bathroom and called, "M'lady? Your bath is ready."

She shot him a look, and he breathed a sigh from his lips. He crossed the room and picked her up from her chair, bridal style, and carried her to the bathroom. Once he'd set her on her feet, he bowed, and began to leave.

"Are you forgetting something?" she asked.

"I…I don't believe so, Mistress."

"Do you think I can unzip this dress on my own?"

She was right; the dress was a casual sundress with thick straps, and the zipper went too far up her spine for her to unzip it by herself. Granted, it wasn't _entirely_ impossible, but whatever else were servants for?

His cheeks tinged, but his expression was unchanging . She watched him in the mirror as he came up behind her and gently tugged the zipper down, and he gazed back at her with sharp black eyes as her white bra and the waistline of her panties came into view.

His hands lingered near the zipper by the small of her back a little longer than necessary before he backed away and bowed low. "M'lady," he murmured, and he left the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.

Slipping out of her dress and underwear, Bulma climbed into the strawberry scented tub and sighed in contentment. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief; how she loved having him wrapped around her pinkie finger. Everything about him made her feel so in control, even his half-nakedness. If anything, his constant lack of a complete set of clothes made her feel dominant, and the black collar she kept around his neck made her feel powerful.

Monstrously powerful.

She loved it.

After a while, she decided that she'd been in the bath long enough; she didn't want to get wrinkles. Climbing out and smelling freshly of strawberries, she dried herself and emerged wrapped in her towel. The Saiyan's head shot up; he'd been dozing, and he immediately straightened and turned his gaze away from her. "Mistress."

"I'd like to wear my kimono," she said, stopping in front of her vanity. She reached into one of the drawers, pulled out something black, and set it on the counter.

He disappeared into her closet to retrieve it, and at her request, turned away. She put her underwear on and slid the juban-slip over her head, then cleared her throat and held her arms away from her sides. A moment later, he pulled the wide sleeves over her thin arms, and reached around her waist to set the extra layers of fabric in their proper place. "Mistress," he said quietly, and she held the fabric where it was, and he tied her belt.

After that, with her second belt tied, he put the obi makura in place and tied the obi. It was a very pretty kimono, colored as red as her nails, and a pattern of swirled golden flowers coating it, and the obi was a glossy shade of gold that matched the design.

When his hands fell back to his side, he did not move from behind her, but merely watched in silence as she looked herself over in the mirror and gave a pleased nod. She placed her hands over the countertop and leaned forward to look at her face; she was as young as ever.

Satisfied, she curled her fingers around the black object she'd taken from her dresser and whirled. There was a soft click as the leash snapped in place beside the dog tags, and she grinned up at him cheekily.

He did not react other than to look down at the black strap she held in her right hand. She closed her left around the dog tags, her fingers fluttering over his name and the words _Property of Bulma Briefs, Capsule Corporation. _Her lips twitched. She pulled down hard, bringing him to his knees, and she leaned down to look at his face closely. He avoided her eyes until her nail of her index finger prodded and lifted his chin, and their noses touched, though just barely. He stared at her for a moment, then closed his eyes.

Bulma smiled, pleased at his obedience. She said, "Good boy, Vegeta."

His lips parted, and his warm breath reached her mouth.

* * *

Bulma's eyes flew open, and she was surprised to see the ceiling of her bedroom. Everything was extremely dark, much to her confusion, and when she sat up, she realized that she did not have a giant lounge chair in her room, she was not dressed in a kimono, and most importantly, she did not have Vegeta on a leash at her feet.

She yelled, "DAMMIT!" and struck the bed with her fist.

Beside her, a man lifted his head and looked at her lazily. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Vegeta demanded, his voice sounding scratchy with sleep. He glanced at the clock and growled. It was 2:00 AM. He wasn't supposed to be awake for another three hours.

Bulma glared at him. "I almost had you in my clutches," she hissed.

One thick black brow lifted in mild curiosity. After a second, he asked, "Do I even want to know?"

"If I start talking about it, I might start getting an idea for a mind control drug." Her glare deepened.

He frowned, falling silent, and appeared to be thinking about it. After a moment, he laid back down on his pillow.

Bulma scowled heavily, drumming her red nails on the bed.

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**REVIEW, YO!**

**~KimiruMai**


	10. Trance

**I loved the picture for this chapter so much. It was like, the deepest thing I've ever seen. I'd been planning to write this chapter for a far weeks now, but with no inspiration, it wasn't happening. Then Chika Croi did a flashback chapter for a different picture that motivated me like crazy. Thanks, CC!**

**So yeah, this chapter is total sap. I think. Feel free to tell me otherwise. Set in the Mysterious Three Years Arc.**

**Song Prompt: Demons ~ Imagine Dragons**

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**Chapter 10: Trance (Picture #29)**

He sat up as though he was in a trance, and he was confused, because he remembered going to sleep with his woman, but now here he was, back on the ship again.

It was a common occurrence, for him to have those dreams, those delusions that he was actually somewhere safe and happy, only to wake up with the brutal slap of reality that was his life. He would awake in the same manner each time, something in him longing for the little woman he had conjured up in his mind, only to remember with painful clarity exactly where he actually was. Each time he would realize that it had all been fake -his battle with Kakarot, his trials on Namek, his training on Earth, his being a Super Saiyan …all of it was fake. A figment of his imagination.

And worse, his little mate. She was fake too.

He was losing his mind, and he knew it. You'd have to be insane to dream up such wonderful, crazy things, and if that was the case, then he wished he could just go ahead and lose his mind entirely so he could stay there. Over time, he had become rather attached to the place he had created, and God, how he missed it whenever he woke up. It was such a peaceful little planet, and while he would never say so out loud, it nearly killed him to be taken from it. Each time he visited his little world, it seemed to take him so much longer to get back to reality. It was for this reason that he determined that he was losing his mind more with each lapse. One day Frieza was just going to up and kill him for being a nuisance. It always struck him as odd that nobody ever seemed to notice his "episodes", because he could swear he had them more often than he actually slept.

He gritted his teeth and bit back a groan. Home, he wanted to go home. And how silly and weak of him to thinks of an imagined place as home. He bit his lip so hard that he thought it might bleed; he could swear that he could still feel his mate beside him, sleeping peacefully and breathing steadily. He could swear that he could touch her, if he wanted. Even when he received beatings that made lights flash in front of his eyes, he could feel her near him.

And she was so goddamn beautiful, he couldn't _stand_ it.

He had to commend God for blessing him with such an impressive creativity, as one would have to have in order to envision such a beauty. Her silky blue hair was short, just to her shoulders, her crystal blue eyes sharp with intelligence and twinkling with mischief, her creamy skin flawless, or at least, from his view, her voice high and feminine… she was strangely perfect, which surprised him, because he had always wanted a Saiyan woman before.

He glanced around his quarters, hating the sight of grey metal walls and the beeping computer signaling him that he had a new mission. He was beginning to hate new missions with a passion, because each time he went one, he would imagine that he had killed her. Sometimes he would choke her to death, or break her neck, or vaporize her, or set her on fire… there were so many ways to kill a person, and he had nearly lost track of how many times he had murdered her. Each time, he would listen to her wails and watch her cry, and he would want to stop so badly, but his hands would move of their own accord. And of course, as soon as he had killed her he would come to his senses and realize what he'd done. When this happened, he almost (always) broke down and wept bitterly, because he was a monster and she wasn't real and even if she was, then there would be nothing he could do to bring her back.

He swallowed uncomfortably and glanced at the door, behind which he could hear the footsteps of his master. Fear gripped him, froze his muscles and stole his breath, his dark eyes widening as Frieza burst into the room and screamed in rage, _"Vegeta!"_

He cried out when the first blow hit, and nearly trembled when a cool hand rested on his face and remained there. Someone said his name.

"Vegeta…"

He blinked, the lights fading until the room grew dark, and the tyrant melded into nothing. Skinny arms were wrapped around his shoulders and neck, hushed murmurs fluttering against his ear. His breathing was quick and shallow, his mouth open in the remnants of a scream. He glanced to his right and saw a mess of tousled blue hair, and relief flooded him instantly, though this did little to still his thudding heart.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It was just a nightmare, it wasn't real. You're safe."

They were words meant for someone weak, he thought, because she said them with such love and compassion. Love that should have been given to an affectionate man who could express his appreciation in a way that Vegeta could not.

He hated this weakness, this emotion.

But somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, the child within admitted that he was frightened. He was scared, partially because for a moment, he couldn't tell if this was real or not. But her hand was against his face, and he could smell her - that was always what convinced him.

His breathing began to calm, and he reached for her silently, not looking at her until she was close enough for him to bury his face in her shoulder. She didn't flinch as his arms tightened around her waist and shoulders, or say a word as his lips pressed against her collarbone, just rubbed his back and smoothed his black hair comfortingly. "I'm here," she said softly.

He squeezed her tightly, his hands shifting under the hem of her tank to feel her smooth skin - thank God, she was real - blinking once as the final images of his flashback disappeared. "I know," he whispered. "I feel you."

"I love you so much," she whispered back, squeezing him back as hard as she possibly could.

He was silent, but he turned his face into her neck and breathed in her sweet scent.

* * *

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**~ KimiruMai**


	11. Tattletale

**Disclaimer: HA! I wish. **

**Song Prompt: One Night ~ Ed Sheeran**

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**Chapter 11: Tattletale (Picture #15) **

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW!"

"Bulma, come on, don't be –"

"OUT!"

Her screaming was about to burst his eardrums, it really was. The couch Vegeta sat on was feeling less comfortable by the second, and the TV wasn't helping to drown it out at all. This argument with the weakling was louder than it usually was, but this was most likely because the mistake was much bigger this time. In his two years of being on this wretched planet, this little "mishap" was probably the worst yet…or at least, the worst one that was so close in time to the last one.

"Bulma," Yamcha pleaded, "I don't know what he was talking about. I swear!"

"Bullshit! What reason would he have to lie? You know he doesn't think you're worth it!"

Yamcha frowned at his long-time girlfriend, who was seething so much that her creamy skin had turned red with fury. "Gee, thanks. And regardless of my "worth", he hates me anyway! It's a perfectly legitimate reason!"

"SHUT UP!" Bulma yelled. "I don't care what you think his reasoning would be! You've done this before and it's not surprising!"

Yamcha opened his mouth, then shut it, not sure what to say. Her words were true, that much was certain, but seriously…"I can't believe you're choosing him over me."

Bulma became eerily calm, and that's when Yamcha knew he'd made a mistake. "I am not. Choosing him. Over you. I am just _sick and fed up _with you and your stupid CHEATING!"

From the living room couch, Vegeta nearly winced from the volume. If this wasn't so utterly amusing, he'd have left a long time ago.

"Bulma, I'm not cheating on you!" Yamcha cried.

"Oh yeah?" Taking his bluff, Bulma stormed right up to him and sniffed his clothes. "Well, what the fuck do you know, I don't wear that perfume. What a surprise!"

Yamcha sputtered. "I don't smell anything."

"Because you're used to it by now, you dumbass!" she shrieked. "If you weren't so stupid, you'd now that if you're around a person wearing perfume for more than 15 minutes, you can't really smell it anymore!"

Yamcha became quiet.

Bulma sighed and rubbed her temple, looking away from him as her voice changed it's tone from raging to exhausted. "Just get out, Yamcha. I know you still have that apartment downtown. Just get out. And don't come back."

Yamcha looked hurt. "Bulma –"

"Just get out."

Vegeta glanced over his shoulder and watched as Yamcha's fists tightened. The scarred fighter's shoulders tensed, and for a moment Vegeta thought he was going to hit her, but Yamcha suddenly turned on his heels and left, slamming the door behind him. The Saiyan heard heavy footsteps fading outside, and a sigh came from Bulma's direction.

He turned back to the TV when he heard her footsteps coming closer, and ignored her when she sat down to his left. She sighed again, tiredly, and leaned on his shoulder. After a while, she said, "Thanks for telling me."

He frowned, but said nothing. He glanced at her and only saw the top of her blue head, and he wondered if it had been a good thing that he'd been angry at the scent of harlots in their house.

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**Vegeta, you know you love her :3**

**REVIEW!**

**~KimiruMai**


	12. Date

**Set sometime after the previous chapter :3**

**Disclaimer: Blahhhh**

**Song Prompt: Lucky ~ Jason Mraz**

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**Chapter 12: Date (Picture #358)**

He was almost disturbingly handsome in his black cashmere sweater…devilishly so, in fact. Dark colors suited him well. They matched everything about him; his charcoal hair, onyx eyes, tanned skin…and especially his personality. She was glad she'd bought it for him.

She was sure that whatever kind of getup Saiyans would have worn outside of battle on his home planet would favor him too (actually, his armor wasn't all that shabby, either), but since those articles of clothing no longer existed, she was quite happy to deal with his casual jeans and sweaters or t-shirts or whatever human clothes he put on. She adored seeing him in human clothes.

He preferred tight-fitting garments, which was understandable given the spandex battle suit he'd worn for most of his life, and she wasn't complaining about that either. The cashmere hugged his torso snugly and gripped his biceps, even when the sleeves were pushed up the way they currently were, and his jeans could still hang a bit loosely off his hips without sagging the way she hated, all the while showing off his nice…_figure_ from behind.

Yes, Vegeta was a beautiful man. She'd given up denying it; her recent breakup with Yamcha just seemed to keep shoving the fact back in her face time and time again. Even now, she folded her hands behind her back to avoid touching him, for the urge just seemed to be getting worse and worse as time went on.

He raised a dark eyebrow at her as they walked, having noticed her stiffness. "What's wrong with you?" he asked bluntly.

That was another thing about him that she adored; his brashness. He was rude, bold, brazen and loudmouthed, stubborn and set in his ways, just like her. He was a creature of habit, always exhibiting the same mannerisms that she was taking great delight in recognizing, like the fact that he always ate his meat before anything else, and how he always came to dinner at the exact same minute every day if he came at all.

"Nothing," she answered calmly, and she continued walking. It was rare that he would accompany her on outings, especially ones that were as completely pointless as this one (she doubted that going to take a walk in the park would count as important to him) and she did not want to ruin it, or else he'd leave her and go home.

His brows knitted with noticeable irritation, and the corner of his mouth twitched in a frown. "You keep clenching your hands like you want to punch something, woman. Now spit it out, whatever it is."

She kept her hands behind her back and bit her lip. He was short tempered too, and while she thought that complimented her own personality very well, it also meant that she was always on a short leash with him. "You'd laugh at me," she admitted.

A soft growl of annoyance rose from his throat as he narrowed his eyes at her. "Woman, you have ten seconds."

She was quiet. He sighed and said, "Nine. Eight – "

"I was thinking that this was kind of like a date," she blurted.

He blinked and looked at her, surprised. "One of your human courtship rituals?"

Any other time, his foreigner's outlook on her culture would have greatly amused her, but now, she was nervous. "It just felt like it was to me," she said quietly, squeezing her hands behind her back. "It doesn't have to be, I just wondered…" she trailed off, then sighed and said, "You can go back to Capsule Corp if you want to."

His expression changed rapidly in the next few seconds, from surprised to confused to suspicious to incredulous. Finally, he settled on his usual annoyed look, and grunted, "Stupid woman."

She looked up when his pace didn't change. He was still walking with her, hands in his jeans pockets.

Bulma squeezed her fingers one more time before she decided it was time to be bold, otherwise she was getting nowhere. But her nervousness still affected her, so she asked shyly, "Can I hold your hand?"

He raised one brow and looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. "What for?"

It made it so much more embarrassing when she had to explain. "It's a human sign of being together." Thinking that maybe he still wouldn't quite understand, she added, "As a couple."

Vegeta looked like he was thinking about it, but his black eyes narrowed at a male passerby who's gaze lingered on her a little bit too long. "It tells other males you are mine, then," he elaborated for her.

"Well…yes, if you want to put it like that."

He glanced around again, as though expecting one of the Z Fighters to jump out any minute now and catch him in this moment of sweetness with the human woman. Finally, he grumbled something under his breath in a foreign language and looked away from her. He took one hand out of his pocket and let it linger by his side.

Bulma smiled and took his hand.

* * *

**Now kiiiiiiiiiissssssssss.**

**:3**

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**~KimiruMai**


	13. Reacceptance

**Disclaimer: Yeah, whatever. We all know I'm broke. **

**Song Prompt: Tiptoe ~ Imagine Dragons**

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**Chapter 13: Reacceptance (Picture #97)**

They come around the corner, and he is dismayed.

There are butterflies in his stomach. _Butterflies! _He's never been so nervous in his life. This anxiety is enough to kill him. He has dreaded and feared his all his life under Frieza, but never has his fright been this great.

He is _terrified. _

Kakarot is as excited as ever, laughing and chatting rapidly even though Vegeta is not really listening. The Earth-raised warrior doesn't notice the elder's quietness, or rather, he chooses to ignore it, but he definitely doesn't know how the shorter man's palms are sweating underneath his gloves or how his hair seems to be standing on end much more than usual. If he had a tail, it'd have been coiled tightly around his waist, bristled and stiff with apprehension.

For once, he is glad that Kakarot won't shut up, because he knows that if it was quiet, he'd start to panic. Without that incessant noise in the background catching his attention, he'd be a complete wreck.

Around the corner, past that little bushy plant…there's a huge group of people there, comprised of their families and friends, awaiting their arrival. All has fallen silent; most of the can sense the Saiyan's energy, and those who cannot aren't stupid enough as to not catch on.

Kakarot says cheerfully, "Hey guys! We won!"

The cheers and hollers finally start, and the tall man is enveloped in hugs almost immediately, especially by his sobbing mate, who's realized that his halo is gone.

Guilt burns in Vegeta's gut like a fresh wound, and he backs away. Complete and utter shame clouds his features; his brow knits, and his mouth curls downwards in a heavy frown.

His shoulders hunch when he hears his mate and child shoving people out of the way to get to him, and his son grabs his hand and shakes him with giddiness. The small smile he gives the boy is slightly forced, but also genuine, because he really is immensely proud of him.

Trunks lets go suddenly, and _she_ touches Vegeta's shoulder. He nearly flinches, but she is gentle, and when he finally works up the nerve to look her in the eye, she's crying happy tears.

When she speaks, her voice is watery and choked. "I'm so happy you're alive."

Relief floods his eyes, and when she leaps into his arms, crying, he lets her. He wraps his arms around her waist hesitantly, still unsure of himself, and when he realizes that she means it, he squeezes her as tightly as he can without hurting her.

She returns the sentiment, and when she gets control of her breath again, she murmurs, "Vegeta."

He closes his eyes and presses his lips together, burying his face in her neck. After a while, he says quietly, "I'm so sorry."

She forgives him so easily, he doesn't understand it, nor does he particularly care to. He's learned that it's better not to question it.

* * *

**Aww, Geta-chaaan :3 **

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**~KimiruMai**


	14. Fishing Line

**Yeah, so…this chapter is complete nonsense. Totally fangirling here. Enjoy, or gowei. **

**Disclaimer: Pfft.**

**Song Prompt: Emma ~ Imagine Dragons**

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**Chapter 14: Fishing Line (Picture #352)**

This, was absurd.

There was no other word for it…besides utterly ridiculous, stupid, ludicrous, unreasonable, outrageous, irrational, preposterous, nonsensical…there were a good number of words, actually. Here she was, a gorgeous, rich, intelligent woman in the midst of her prime, the proud heiress of Capsule Corporation and owner of most things that people craved for but would never get, and yet she was resorting to get food by way of fishing.

_FISHING!_

She was a goddamn heiress, she shouldn't have to fish! She should be eating hot gourmet meals that cost more than some people's fanciest clothes, not something she fished out of a frickin' river! Especially not a river of a planet she didn't even live on!

But Kami, she was so tired of eating what she had brought with them on this trip. She needed some good, fresh, quality meat, for God's sake! She wanted some shrimp! She wanted tuna! Hell, she wanted caviar! Was some caviar too much to ask?

So here she was, sitting by the edge of the riverbank near water that was probably a good twenty feet over her head, with nets set up further downstream and her fishing pole in hand. Knowing the kind of fish that she'd seen so far, the string was nearly a good two inches thick, completely see-through and unbreakable. She'd also set up nooses in the water that were designed to close around a fishes' tail if it hit the trigger just right, because frankly she didn't trust her fishing skills all that much. Her materials, she was certain, could handle the giant fish of Namekian shores; she'd had Goku try them out once when he was younger, just for kicks, and he'd been unable to break them (at which he'd been mighty impressed).

No fish was going to escape the wrath of Bulma Briefs.

* * *

He had a good 2 minutes left before he would have to resurface; he'd been swimming for maybe eight minutes already, and he prided himself on his lung capacity. Zarbon wasn't going to find him this way, that was for sure. He had always hated how everyone thought of him as a brainless monkey, but as of now, that accusation was going to come in great handy.

Pleased with himself, and his devious planning, he started scanning the area for Dragon Balls, in case one had strayed and gone into the river. He doubted it, given his perfect aim, but with a mission like this, one could never be too careful.

Finding nothing (Ha! He knew his aim was better than this!) he swam on, checking for power levels every so often. He felt nothing that couldn't be a fish or some other type of Namekian creature, and unless one of those Earthlings were hiding nearby, there was no one present for miles.

He grinned underwater.

With a few swift kicks, he propelled himself forward. He'd need to come up for air soon; his lungs were starting to burn. After he took another breath of air he could keep swimming for a while, and finally retrieve the Dragon Balls on land.

He was so pleased with this thought that the clear rope didn't catch his eye.

His eyebrows shot up as he felt something snag around his ankle. Whirling, he saw something glimmer in the light that penetrated the water; a string of some kind.

He pulled on it, but it only seemed to tighten. What kind of trickery was this? What scrawny rope could hold the Prince of all Saiyans?

He bent down to untie it from his boot, but in the murky water, his slick gloves prevented him from getting a proper grip on the knot. He pulled one off and tried again; damn it, what kind of material was this?

Something yanked hard on the string, and because he wasn't expecting it, it dragged him through the water a bit. Surprised, he opened his mouth, and water rushed in. Gagging, he clamped his mouth shut and pulled against the rope so hard that it hurt his ankle. His lungs were really starting to burn now; he even felt light headed.

He turned and twisted in the water, and by time it occurred to him to just blast whatever the hell it was, his eyes were falling shut. His lips slipped open again, and the last remaining air bubbles floated from his mouth.

* * *

_Jeez, _this fish must be _huge!_

Bulma pulled and yanked on the tripped string as hard as she could, using the little reeling machine to help her. Multiple times, she was nearly pulled into the river. This fish must be _massive_, or at least extremely strong. She pulled harder and set the reeling machine up to the max, wondering how she was going to kill this thing. But damn if she wasn't hungry enough to eat a whale!

Suddenly, the rope's tension loosened, as though the fish was no longer pulling. Pleased that perhaps she had exhausted it, or maybe caused it to hit its head, she gave a few final tugs and saw a dark shape coming closer underneath the water. Finally, some meat!

And then a white boot surfaced from the water, and Bulma felt her blood run cold.

Shrieking, she dropped the rope as though it was on fire, but the reeling machine still towed it in slowly. Bulma watched in frozen horror as a small, slender figure floated to the surface; she knew from the sleek armor that it was one of Frieza's soldiers.

Then she saw the black hair.

His face was halfway in the water, his mouth partially open, and his sharp features were harshened with stress and anger. She felt herself trembling, terrified, but then realized that he was completely unconscious.

She had drowned him.

_No! _She refused to believe she had killed someone, even if it was an evil bastard like him. She'd never forgive herself. It didn't matter that he'd done so many horrible things. It didn't matter that he deserved to die. Bulma just didn't want to be responsible for someone's death.

At least, that's what she told herself as she pulled him ashore.

He was heavy, but the combination of her fear and determination gave her strength, and she hauled him onto the bank. He was sopping wet, and some moss and river weeds had caught on his armor.

She momentarily panicked about what to do; she'd taken first aid classes before, just in case, but this was a mass murdering alien here. Finally, after nearly slapping herself to just _do _something already, she grabbed his armor around the shoulders and pulled it up over his head. She hurried the best she could, and the armor stretched, but not easily. Finally, she got it off, and noted that he wasn't breathing.

_Shit._

Pressing her ear to his chest, she realized that his heart was still beating. Good; at least he was alive. Now, to get that water out of his lungs…

She sighed.

_This is what I get for trying to be a nature survivalist, _she groaned to herself. At least the spikey haired warrior was unconscious.

Tilting his chin back, she pinched the bridge of his nose and put her lips over his mouth. She breathed air into his mouth, then drew back and pushed hard on his chest multiple times, and repeated the process. His lips were warm – _good_, he was still alive – and the color slowly began to return to his bronze skin.

Finally, his eyes flew open, and he bolted upright, coughing and sputtering. Bulma yelped and leapt back, falling to the ground. Vegeta coughed a few more times before he got his breath back, upon which he spit on the ground and glared at his surroundings. His onyx eyes settled on Bulma, and narrowed.

"You!" he hissed.

She felt herself shaking, but she asked timidly, "Are you okay?"

His dark brows knitted, and he glanced towards the river. He'd almost drowned! He remembered passing out, he was sure of it. How dismayed he had been, thinking that he, the Prince of all Saiyans, was going to be killed by some goddamn water.

He turned to glare at her again. "How did I get here?" he demanded.

She gulped and shrunk under his gaze. "I…I pulled you out. You got caught in my fishing rope."

He frowned, mostly at the prospect of being rescued by such a weak female. "You saved me? Why?"

"I didn't want to kill anybody," she squeaked.

He licked his lips, which were damp with moisture from her breath mingling with his."Is that so?" he murmured, stepping closer. Bulma flinched and closed her eyes, preparing for the blow she knew was coming.

Instead, she heard a whisper of, "I don't believe you," and soft lips pressed against her cheek.

She opened her eyes in wonder, and saw the almost unnoticeable quirk of his lips.

He reached down to pick up his armor from the ground and slid it back over his head. He glanced back at her as he adjusted his gloves, then said, "I don't like debts, female. Perhaps when I become emperor I will spare your pathetic life."

She blinked, shocked, then nodded meekly. He nodded at her in return, like a closing valediction, and turned away from her. His aura exploded around him, causing her short hair to fly back from her face, and he took off into the air.

Bulma stared after him and wondered what exactly just happened.

* * *

**Heh ^^'**

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**~KimiruMai**


	15. Skinny

**Jus cuz. **

**Disclaimer: Bleh**

**Song Prompt: Unfold ~ Jason Mraz**

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**Chapter 15: Skinny (Picture #41)**

She felt his dark eyes scrutinize her for an uncomfortably long time, and he said, "You're too skinny."

Bulma looked up sharply from the salad she was making, and said, "I can't be."

Vegeta narrowed his eyes at her and said, "Yes, you can, and yes, you are."

Bulma stopped tossing her salad, turning to him and putting her hands on her hips. "I've gained three pounds this week alone."

"Good," he replied. "You're too skinny."

"I'm fat," Bulma said dryly, thinking he was teasing her.

He snorted. "Where?"

She sighed and pointed to her stomach. "It used to be perfectly flat," she pouted.

He rolled his eyes and beckoned her closer. "That's because you don't exercise, you stupid woman."

She frowned as she walked closer to him, blushing as he pulled up the hem of her shirt and examined her waist, even though he'd seen plenty more than that, and recently too.

"Skinny," he muttered, shaking his head. "Hold this."

Bulma took the hem of her shirt and held it up, still embarrassed by his close examination. Vegeta's dark eyes drifted up to her face lazily, and a smirk form on his face for a moment, as though he could sense her discomfort. He looked back at her stomach then, and frowned again.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He put his hands around her hips, like he was measuring them. "You're so ridiculously tiny," he tsked.

She felt happy at his words, but at the same time, she didn't believe him. "Not really."

"You are," he insisted. "Stop starving yourself."

"I'm not starving myself," she corrected, putting her shirt back down. "I'm dieting."

He rolled his eyes. "Woman, can you imagine how skinny I'd be if I only ate leaves like you do?"

"It's called lettuce, Vegeta," Bulma sighed. "Not leaves."

"I don't care. You need some meat."

"I do eat meat –" she started.

"Sushi doesn't count," he interrupted.

Bulma opened her mouth, then shut it and glared at him. "I don't want to gain weight," she said stubbornly.

He shrugged, as if saying, _tough_.

Bulma wanted to stomp her foot to emphasize her point, but she decided that such an action would be horrendously immature, so she quelled the urge. Instead, she decided to ignore him, and turned back to the counter so she could finish tossing her salad.

Suddenly, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and his arm clamped around her waist without warning. She yelped, startled, and gasped, "Vegeta!"

"How am I supposed to have my fun with you if you're thin enough to snap in my fingers?" he whispered against her ear.

Bulma blushed heavily, perfectly aware of what kind of "fun" he was referring to. She swallowed and slowly pushed the salad away. "I guess I could just start jogging again."

He smirked into her neck, pleased with himself.

* * *

**Veggie-kun, you sneaky bastard. **

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**~KimiruMai**


	16. Take Me By The Heart

**Because I am a genius and I can. **

**Disclaimer: Blah blah. **

**Song Prompt: Oh, you'll see.**

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**Chapter 16: Take Me By The Heart (Picture #285)**

Normally, when his wife was singing, that meant great trouble for him.

Today, of course, was no exception to this strange phenomena, as he was quick to find out upon entering the house after a day of training. With him in the gravity room, Trunks gone over to Goten's for sparring, and her parents out for the day doing God knows what, Bulma had the entire house to herself, which meant that she would either hole herself up in her lab until she passed out or blare TV, music, or some other such nonsense while eating a variety of snacks. Today, she had chosen the latter, unfortunately for Vegeta.

It was 80's music, from what he could tell (although that's all he could tell you, as it all sounded the same to him), and Bulma was blaring it rather loudly while singing at the top of her lungs at the same time, and he immediately knew that she was in a horridly good mood today, most likely from the completion of some project or from finding the perfect pair of shoes online or elsewhere. She was in the kitchen, which was just where he needed to go since he was so hungry, but now he had half a mind to just turn around, go back to the GR and starve in peace.

His stomach disagreed with that, so he went into the kitchen anyway. Bulma was dancing around the room in the most undignified manner possible, waving around a butter-knife as she slapped peanut butter and jelly on white bread. He just stood there and stared at her for a moment upon entering, trying to understand what the hell she was doing exactly, and failing miserably at it.

Bulma sang, " – what a pity you don't understand, you take me by the heart when you take me by the hand! Oh, Mickey, you're so pretty, can't you understand, it's guys like you Mickey! Oh what you do, Mickey, do Mickey, don't break my heart Mickey!"

He didn't have any idea as to who "Mickey" could possibly be, but as the name was also being blared by the speakers of her stereo, he assumed it was just song lyrics. Even so, he found her behavior extremely strange, as shown by his raised eyebrow, and he could make no sense out of the song whatsoever either.

She turned then, and saw him, and her face lit up with delight. She started clapping along with the song and stepping closer to him with each beat, swinging her hips widely, and she cried, "HEY, Geta, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind, hey Geta!"

His face colored with embarrassment, and she threw her arms around his neck and planted a big kiss on each of his cheeks. After that, she gave him a huge grin and kissed him on the mouth with a loud _smwack! _and danced away again, still substituting his name in the lyrics.

Vegeta gave a soft growl and wiped his face, deciding that maybe he wasn't so hungry that he would continue to listen to such humiliating nonsense.

He would _never_ understand the female species.

* * *

**LOL, God, I love 80's songs. Classic, utterly classic. **

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**~KimiruMai**


	17. Reflection

**So, I was browsing the internet for Vegeta related nonsense and I came across this picture that inspired me to write this. T'was deep, man, deep, I tell you. It then reminded me of this picture from the 365 days challenge, so I was like, aw, what the hell. And here it is ^^**

**Set after the Buu Saga. **

**Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, we all know I'm 15 and broke.**

**Song Prompt: Trust Me ~ The Fray**

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**Chapter 17: Reflection (Picture #309)**

His shower was scalding hot, as he prefered it, because the sting of it distracted him and the steam cleared his head. He had been unusually quiet for the last few days, trying to be as good as possible and win back the trust of his loved ones. Trunks, for the most part, had already forgiven him, but he had not seen what Vegeta had done. Bulma, however...that was another story. He was amazed and grateful that she'd even let him into the house again, and while she was extremely happy that he was alive, she was still a bit angry with him.

Perhaps that was an understatement.

He sighed and combed his fingers through his dark hair. She always seemed wary of him now; not that she wouldn't go near him or any such nonsense, but she stiffened when he touched her and left the room when it was just them in it, and she watched him _all the time. _

That wasn't to say that he didn't _like_ her watching him, just...not with that expression on her face, like she was waiting for him to jump up and go crazy again. Like he was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

He _hated_ her looking at him like that.

He turned off the water and climbed out of the shower, drying his hair with a towel before he wrapped it around his waist. The steam from the hot water had fogged the mirror heavily, something that he noticed too quickly.

Vegeta pressed his lips together and breathed a slow breath - inhale, exhale - and he cautiously reached out and touched the mirror. He mentally kicked himself for being fearful of a reflection, and yet, each time, he couldn't help it.

He wiped the fog from the mirror. Where his solemn face and dark features should have been, Majin Vegeta's pale, grinning face stared back at him.

He inhaled sharply and flinched back, his jaw clenching and his fists tightening. Every time...every time he looked in the mirror, he saw this, and every time, it made his heart race. Vegeta looked away from his reflection, squeezing his eyes shut and muttering a soft plea to the Kais, but when he looked back, Majin Vegeta was still there, laughing at him.

He shook his head wildly to clear it and pulled some of his hair down from it's usual flame, relieved and only half-surprised that it was black. His blonde alter ego snickered at him in the mirror, his pearly teeth gleaming as he gave a maniacal smirk. _"Where's your pride now?" _the mirrored image seemed to say. _"You can't even look yourself in the face." _

He _hated _that voice because it was _his _voice and it _wasn't real _because it was all in his head.

His reflection laughed at him cruelly, and like a weakling, like a _coward_, he turned and fled from it. Like a frightened child, his breath quickened and his heart pounded and he _fled_ because the mirror was right; he couldn't look himself in the face.

_Coward! _

His hands fumbled with the doorknob of his room, but he couldn't get it open because his hands were still slick with water because he didn't dry himself properly. He growled a curse at himself and dried his hands on the towel from his waist and started to turn it again, but now the doorknob was slick and _goddammit, couldn't the universe stop teasing him for once?!_

"Vegeta?"

He jumped, much to his own dismay, but it was only Bulma. He sighed and looked at her, surprised to find her face clouded with worry, her hand halfway reached out as though she'd been about to touch him. Her blue eyes searched his face carefully, and she asked, "Are you alright?"

He swallowed to moisten his tongue and said, "I'm fine."

"Are...are you sure?"

He nodded briskly. "Of course."

She drew back her hand then, as if realizing that it was still hanging in midair. "Oh."

Vegeta grunted another affirmative and opened the door with ease, now that his hands had stopped shaking. He strode into his room and left the door open after swiftly deciding that it was probably not 'good' that he slam it in her face, and she followed him in slowly and quietly.

"You're very jumpy today," she said out loud, sitting on the edge of their bed as she watched his quick movements about the room.

He looked up at her once, then pulled his shorts on over his underwear and tied the string. "I'm the same as any other day," he denied.

She frowned at him and shook her head. "You're different," she murmured quietly.

He growled in annoyance. "Aren't I suppose to be?" he snapped. "You wanted me to be good. I'm trying! Make up your mind, you stupid woman!"

She blinked at his sudden outburst, then grinned. "Well, now, that's more like it."

Now it was his turn to blink and gape at her. "What?"

She sighed and shook her head, standing up to hug him. "You know I hate it when you're all mopey," she muttered into his neck, squeezing his middle.

He exhaled softly, exasperated at her fickleness, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He would never understand this woman, but then, that amused him.

"And I know you're trying to be good," Bulma said. "Which is really cute and all, and sweet, but I didn't marry you for your complacency, okay? Argue with me, or something."

He gave a low, rumbling chuckle. "Easy enough." He paused, then added, "And stop looking at me like I'm going to jump up and attack you all the time."

She shifted uncomfortably. "I'm still upset - "

"Understandable," he murmured. He nosed her hair and said quietly, "I _am _sorry..."

"I know," Bulma replied, "And as I was saying, I'm still upset, but I can do that. Of course, it depends on what kind of 'attack' you mean..."

His face coloured with embarrassment, and he growled, "Vulgar woman." She laughed in reply, and hugged him tighter. He breathed in her scent and looked up from her shoulder, and suddenly realized that they were standing across the room from her vanity mirror.

Majin Vegeta looked at him with his face partially hidden in blue hair, his mouth stretched into a wicked grin and his crazed, teal eyes shining with bloodlust.

* * *

**Review! **

**~KimiruMai**


	18. Blue Rose

**I read this collection of short stories about cleverness, and was recently reminded of it, so I got inspired for this. It is based on Maurice Baring's short story, Blue Rose, and uh…yeah, I really have no reasonable explanation for this otherwise. **

**Set in medieval times. **

**Disclaimer: Obviously, none of this is mine.**

**Song Prompt: Butterfly ~ Jason Mraz**

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**Chapter 18: Blue Rose (Picture #187)**

Once upon a time, there was a prince. A handsome prince.

Oh, of course, he was strong, and valiant, with unwavering pride and love for his kingdom. And certainly, he was smart, and passionately loyal, and wholeheartedly determined. Yes, he was brave, and protective when he cared to be; he had a sharp wit and a clever sense of humor that was hilariously funny until you were the butt of the joke.

But mostly he was handsome, and that was all that many cared to observe about him. Because, really, he was a prince, and a devilishly handsome one at that; what else did a woman need to know?

This, of course, displeased him greatly, because he very much preferred to be remembered for his conquests and his success in battle. And while he was known amongst the men as one of the strongest, strength was only the second thing to weigh on most women's minds, and he was often teasingly called the "fairest prince in the land".

There was, however, a problem that was less trivial than such matters, although closely tied with them. The prince had yet to take a bride, and until that happened, he could not be king.

He was in his prime, aged 25 years, and yet he had not begun to pursue a woman at all, nor had he even thought about such things. His father pleaded with him to find a suitable mate, but such a task was not at the top of the prince's list of important things to do, and so he procrastinated all he liked, much to the king's annoyance.

One day, King Vegeta, for whom the prince was named, stood up in his courtroom and declared, "My son must find a suitor."

Immediately, the people in the courtroom was abuzz, because, after all, it wasn't every day that such an announcement was made. Prince Vegeta, however, was clearly displeased, and after folding his arms in a very determined manner, he replied, "I shan't like any of them."

And true to his word, the prince despised each one of his suitors, and found a rather clever way to drive them off until they never again wished to be in his presence. The King's patience was wearing thin, as he was beginning to grow old and was thinking himself not suitable to rule any longer than was necessary. So, this time at a banquet, the king made another announcement. Raising his wine glass, he decreed, "Any woman who can bring my son a blue rose from her garden shall wed him."

Prince Vegeta was not pleased with this at all.

And so the women began to grow their roses, and the sweet scent of the flowers was so grand that it floated through the kingdom, and Prince Vegeta found himself unable to leave his room without smelling them. It, of course, took some time for roses to bloom completely, and he smelled it for so long that he decided he hated flowers, and no longer visited his mother's beautiful garden.

After a while, when the flowers were grown, the women were appalled to find that not a single bush they planted yielded a blue rose. Red roses were plentiful, as were yellow roses, and white roses, and pink ones, but not a single blue rose was to be found. It seemed that such an absurdly colored rose would be about as common as a completely green one. Many a woman gave up after this was decided, until only a few remained, but the prince could not chase them away as he had done to the previous young duchesses and ladies that had come to court him previously, because most were too embarrassed to go without the rose, especially since many were commoners.

The prince's wedding, of course, could not wait forever, and the king eventually said, "You have only three months left to bring the prince a rose."

Desperate, the women began to search again. Some even when so far as to take their family horse, many of which only owned one, to visit other kingdoms and faraway lands in search of the blue flower. Many returned empty handed, and some not at all, and eventually more women forfeited the contest.

Deciding that it must be some type of riddle, the few remaining women proposed clever solutions, and took them to the prince.

"My lord," one woman, a peasant, said, "I bring you this humble gift. Is this not the blue rose you require?" Here she held up a rose that indeed had blue petals, which she had turned blue after dipping the cut stem into dye.

Prince Vegeta's dark eyes took in the offering, and the woman, and he replied, "No, that is not a blue rose, but a white one that has been discoloured. Should an insect try to pollinize it, it would die from the poisonous fumes."

The woman's gift was received, out of courtesy, and she departed, but without the thing she had come for. Another took her place, a duchess, and she presented a grand sapphire to the prince. The gem truly was entitled the Blue Rose, and she presented it to him as such.

"No," the prince sniffed, looking at the present, "That is not a blue rose. I have no need of beautiful gemstones."

And so that gift was received into the nation's treasury, and the prince thought no more of it. A third woman came, and said humbly, "My prince, I bring to you a rose crafted from the finest of hands," and upon saying so, presented him with the loveliest white china cup, which was decorated with the finest print of a blue rose that any in the kingdom had ever seen.

But the prince looked at the woman, and her offering, and said, "No, this is not a blue rose." But the kitchen maids thought the china was too fine to waste, and so the cup was set aside for the prince's tea.

"Shall you never be satisfied?" the king inquired of his son.

"I shan't," Prince Vegeta replied, "For I have no need of a blue rose, nor have I of a woman."

No women came for a time after this, which the prince was content with, but one day, while he sparred in the courtyards and practiced his sword fighting, he noticed a fair woman with the bluest of hair, carrying a bundle of daisies in her arms. Not a single rose was among them, as he was glad to see, but her beauty enticed him so that he beckoned and called to her. She stopped and began to chat with him, and he discovered about her an air of intelligence. They argued about things, and ranted together, and told stories. His biting humor amused her, as her swift comebacks did him. He found that when in her company, he did not mind the smell of roses, and so he took her to his mother's lovely gardens, and they talked for hours more.

She asked, "My lord, why have not you a bride?"

He answered, "I have no need of one to be king; it is a pointless law that requires such. I have yet to meet a woman who would like to wed me instead of a prince, besides."

The woman blinked her pretty blue eyes and said, "Well, that is silly, for I would marry a commoner with a name such as yours, had I chance to."

He was pleased with her, and replied, "Be that as it may, my father has passed an absurd decree, and only a woman that brings me a blue rose can be queen."

But the woman was clever, and so she smiled, and said to him, "Then, my prince, I shall bring you a blue rose."

He asked her how she should hope to accomplish such a thing, but she would not tell him, and the next morning the woman arrived at the palace with her offering.

"My prince," she began, and confidently curtsied to the prince and king, who sat upon their thrones, "I have brought you a blue rose, and I pray it is to your liking." Pleased with herself, she then held up a plain white rose, and bestowed it to the prince.

"My son, it is but a white rose," the king said disappointedly. "T'isn't blue at all."

Prince Vegeta looked upon the woman, and her rose, and his dark eyes twinkled with mischief, though his expression held stern. "Why, of course it is a blue rose, Father. I haven't seen one bluer. Perhaps you are simply colour blind."

The king was exasperated, but questioned it no further, because his son had finally picked a bride.

And so, the old king retired, and the young King Vegeta and Queen Bulma ruled the land, and cleverly so. The young king teased his queen often, and privately nicknamed her, for she really was quite the bluest rose to him.

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**Heh.**

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**~KimiruMai**


	19. Pancakes

**This is one of those chapters that I wrote for the hell of it. I'm not going to promise it's good.**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I totally own DBZ. I wrote the first manga before I formed in my mother's womb.**

**Song Prompt: All I Need to Know ~ Thousand Foot Krutch**

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**Chapter 19: Pancakes (Picture #143)**

The way he cooked dismayed her.

If there were three things about herself that Bulma was absolutely positive about, it'd be that she could be horribly jealous at times, she hated losing, and she couldn't cook. Now, all of these things, except perhaps the second one, were silly traits for her to have because she had just about everything she could possibly want and her mother was an excellent chef. But even so, no matter what she did, Bulma could not produce an edible dish to save her life. Cooking skills was the one thing she envied her mother of; without Mrs. Briefs, Bulma would surely starve to death.

Without her mother…and strangely, without Vegeta.

Now, naturally, one would assume that such a high and mighty Prince of all Saiyans wouldn't know the first thing about cooking, besides roasting fresh kill on a stick while he was out in the woods, especially with the way he complained about preparing it himself. He never once cooked for himself while preparing for the Androids, or during the Games with Cell, or any time in between. Bulma had often wondered how he and Mirai Trunks had survived during their two years in the Time Chamber, especially after hearing Goku and Gohan talk about their disgusting meals, but her son from the future had never said anything about it, and she hadn't thought to ask.

So, after the Cell incident was cleared up, Bulma spent most of her time with Trunks and gave Vegeta the space he needed. They didn't argue as much, and they didn't see each other often, and one day she sought him out for the sole purpose of telling him to stop lying around the house pouting like a spanked baby and get off his ass and do something. He took that about as well as any man would, and they spent a good decent two hours screaming at the top of their lungs at each other.

Normally, when Vegeta _wasn't_ in a completely depressed state of mind, such an argument would end with heated sex, but given that they were both mourning, albeit in different ways, nothing kept Bulma up that night except for Trunks's endless cries. After feeling the aura of his parents flare up for such a long time, the purple haired demi-Saiyan was in a very foul mood.

Needless to say, that morning she was too exhausted to get up, and she was still mad at Vegeta, so she wasn't going to bother getting up to make him a shitty breakfast. She slept in till noon, and quite by accident, and the only reason she woke up was because she smelled stir fry.

Curious, as she knew that her mother and father had just recently left for a trip, she climbed out of bed, and ran her fingers through her hair as she tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen. Much to her surprise, she saw Vegeta standing at the stove, for once without his heavy scowl, stirring food in a pan.

He heard her approach and glanced back at her, raising a thick black eyebrow.

Bulma blinked and said, "I didn't know you could cook."

He scoffed at her and turned back to preparing his food. "Of course I can, you stupid woman. I'm the Prince of all Saiyans. Such simple tasks are well within my ability."

Bulma decided then that Vegeta was no longer going to be his mopey self (something she was glad for) so she sat down at the kitchen table and watched him. He seemed to have no problem with this, and didn't pay her any mind. After a while, her stomach rumbled, and he made a sound that suspiciously resembled a snort.

"If you wouldn't sleep all day, you'd have had breakfast by now," he said smartly.

"If I didn't have to care for my son all night, I wouldn't sleep all day," she snapped back.

He shrugged. "He hasn't cried this morning, has he? To your knowledge?"

She gaped, then asked, "Since when can you take care of a baby?"

He didn't answer, but instead dumped his meal onto two plates, and sat one in front of her.

Bulma stared at him, thinking that surely something in his brain was causing him to malfunction, but she grabbed a fork anyway and tried the food.

It was _really _good.

So yes, the way he cooked dismayed her, because it was one skill in the house that he would forever be superior to her in. Trunks, now nine years old, found this very funny, although he was sure to keep his mouth shut around his mother. This task wasn't particularly hard when there was a huge pancake in front of him, which he was currently smothering in honey and syrup.

"Shesh es delishus, Ded," he said around his food.

Vegeta shook the spatula at him disgustedly from across the kitchen, where he stood at the stove with his sleeves pushed up. "Swallow."

Trunks obeyed and repeated, "This is delicious, Dad."

Vegeta grunted with embarrassment and put another plate on the table, this time in front of Bulma. She sighed and ate it quietly, then muttered, "I don't understand how you make them so well."

He raised his eyebrow at her, his dark eyes flashing with amusement. "It's only add-water mix, you know."

Bulma groaned defeated, and finished off her pancake.

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**~KimiruMai**


	20. Rainstorm

**I es 16 now, yo :3**

**Disclaimer: Yeah yeah, still broke. **

**Song Prompt: Bluebird ~ Sara Bareilles. This song + rainymood = absoluteperfection.**

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**Chapter 20: Rainstorm. (Picture #284)**

"You sure you can make it all the way to the Lookout, Yamcha? You're pretty badly wounded yourself."

"Sure I can! Compared to Gohan's, these are nothing but scrapes, anyway."

"Alright then, I get Trunks and follow you just to be safe."

"And I'll grab 18…well, she is a victim of Cell too! Might as well bring her along! Heh…"

Piccolo turned and saw Vegeta still floating in the sky, his posture uncharacteristically slumped. The Saiyan Prince wiped at his cheek, but no blood came away on the glove.

He sent the others on, then said, "That was a brave thing you did back there."

"Save your applause," Vegeta rasped bitterly. "Go on, leave me be."

Piccolo smiled, kind of knowingly – _heh, and he thought he could stay a bad guy with these idiots around – _then said, "Your call," and left.

Vegeta drifted there for a long time, and he thought about how Kakarot had died so valiantly, fearlessly, and how he'd never get his chance now, and how he was the last of his race now. It wasn't fair.

He thought about whether or not he would go back to Capsule Corp. No one would miss him if he was gone, really. There was no reason to keep him around, nor was there any reason for him to want to stick around. He had worn out his welcome here, and his use.

Bulma wouldn't want him anyway. He'd let her son die.

Did it matter that this boy wasn't exactly born from her womb? Would her future counterpart not feel resentment, if she knew? That thought sent another flurry of questions through his head; was she alive still, with Trunks gone so long? Or would the boy go back to the point in time at which he'd left? Maybe it would feel like seconds to her, minutes maybe. Hours, or a day, if she was unlucky. How was someone so fragile like her surviving with her world in its very own apocalypse? Did she have that kind of strength? Could she move on, like he'd had to do as a child? Was she capable? Did she miss him?

He almost wished he had died, instead of his future counterpart. Maybe his future self was wiser than he. He could be with his people again, where he belonged. He could kill himself, he reasoned, if such an act weren't the epitome of cowardice. He'd shown enough of that, lately.

His feet touched the cliffside. He hadn't been quite aware that he'd been slowly falling. He blinked, and caught himself before he could stumble, but had to take a few steps to keep from tripping over his own feet. He glanced back at the huge crater that had been left behind by a blast that felt hot minutes after it had disappeared. Another wave of worthlessness washed over him, and he turned away and began to walk. The sound of his boots crunching against the dry dirt sounded soft and rhythmic, and his mind began to go blank the longer he focused on it.

A dark splotch on the ground caught his eye, and he stopped. His dark eyes trailed over the massive bloodstain on the ground, still damp and glistening as the arid earth soaked it up. His jaw tightened, and his stomach twisted itself into a knot.

In a moment, he was on his knees, doubling over as he retched until there was nothing left in his belly. Even after that, he gagged and dry heaved, the smell of blood and vomit filling his nose. His arms shook with the very effort of holding himself up, and eventually he pushed himself away from the mess and collapsed on his side. He felt tired, like he wanted to sleep and never wake up.

It started to rain, like the planet grieved with him. He laid there and let it soak him, and watched through half lidded dark eyes as the rain cleaned up the blood and slowly washed it away.

He wondered why God could answer his prayer about cleansing his son's blood but not about his son not bleeding in the first place. Then he remembered he hadn't prayed for such a thing at all.

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**~KimiruMai**


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